


Long Live the King & His Bee Covered Queen

by McVetty



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drabbles, Multi, crowstiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-26
Updated: 2012-09-27
Packaged: 2017-11-15 01:50:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/521858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McVetty/pseuds/McVetty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Crowley and Castiel-centric drabbles.</p><p>Some might be smutty, some might be smitey, and some might be silly, but I can't promise anything. My muse is fickle and so am I.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Castiel was magnetizing. Damn him, he was _magnetizing._

There was a gravity around the angel, something strange and new and uncomfortable, that Crowley couldn’t quite escape. He found himself drawn to Castiel, to the soft scent of spring and _clean_ that surrounded the angel. Crowley drank in every glimpse of wings, every flicker of emotion behind the cold blue eyes, because beneath it all, Crowley could see the _angel_. To human eyes, Castiel’s true form couldn’t be less appealing. Beautiful, perhaps. Breathtaking, certainly. To a human, Castiel’s true form could never take a lustful nature because it was exactly the opposite of his purpose in existence.

Crowley, having been human before transitioning himself (nearly seamlessly) into life as King of Hell, saw both, and it terrified him. He saw the glory and the beauty, but he also saw the lust and the desire. He felt it when Castiel came too close, when the angel’s breath touched across his face, when the angel’s fingers curled around his wrist. Every nerve of his body wanted to jump from his skin, setting fire to his flesh and leaving behind a prickly trail of goosebumps. Every breath was a struggle, hitching in his throat and catching on that flutter of his meat-suit’s heart as it desperately tried to function properly. The boiling tickle that spread like whiskey in his gut every time Castiel’s icy eyes dropped their gaze to his. Sinful thoughts raced unbidden through his mind every time he glimpsed the pure wings, desire bubbled up inside him when Castiel spoke his name with such disdain.

                       

He despised it, and he lusted for it.


	2. No More Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Castiel visits Crowley, set after 7.18 and makes no chronological sense.

Crowley dropped his drink. He rarely dropped his drink, he preferred to finish it, or at the very least set it to the side where it could be enjoyed later. This time, he dropped it. Shattered it. Right across the floor. Pissed him right off, but there were other emotions there that seethed to the front, before  _pissed off_ had a chance to take over. One of them, and maybe the biggest baddie of them all, was fear.

Castiel set his jaw, lifting his head fractionally to look down his nose at the demon.

“This is a surprise,” Crowley managed to say, edging sidewise around the ornate endtable.

“Crowley,” Castiel said.

“Good, still know my name, I see.”

“You are selling the Winchesters to Dick Roman.”

“Oh, now I wouldn’t go that far,” Crowley said, pausing slightly in his edging to pull himself to his full height.

“I will allow no such thing,” Castiel said decidedly. He lifted his hand, snapped his fingers, and Crowley yelped. A vial of blood appeared in Castiel’s hand, and the King of Hell grit his teeth.

“Think that’s going to solve things, do you?” Crowley asked bitterly.

“The Winchesters only need your blood to complete the weapon.”

“That’s great,” Crowley said cautiously. He bumped against the sofa as he backed away, hesitating a moment. “Wait a minute, how, _exactly_ , are you alive?”

Castiel tucked the blood into his coat. “I do not know.”

“Oh, that’s rich.”

Castiel didn’t respond.

“Daddy get mad at you, did he? Doesn’t like to share, the big guy.”

“Enough talk, Crowley.”

Castiel stood before him, passing the distance of the room in a moment. Crowley swallowed hard, backing away, until he felt his back against the wall. A sweat beaded along his brow, his eyes darted from Castiel to the room, searching for anything to use against the vengeful angel.

“It is no use,” Castiel said, reaching a hand out. “This will only hurt for a second.”

It is cold and warm at the same time. Crowley tries to flee, but finds himself rooted to the spot. A trickling warmth seeps down his body, down into his bones, and he grasped blindly for anything to hold onto. His fingers snagged Castiel’s coat, tugging desperately as he felt the darkness invaded by light. There was forgiveness radiating from Castiel’s palm, chasing away the sins and questionable morals the Demon had clung so tight to for so many centuries.

Crowley screamed.


End file.
